


playing pretend

by ourdivineashes



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Hair Brushing, M/M, MAG160, Missing Scene, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21937798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdivineashes/pseuds/ourdivineashes
Summary: “everything alright?” jon asks. his bare feet pad gently on the hardwood as he comes to me. he looks soft in flannel sleep pants and hair still damp from the shower.“fine,” i say, but as soon as it’s out of my mouth i want to take it back. “i’m just… i’m thinking about if this were different. if we were here on holiday and n-not just. hiding away.”--some gentle moments on scottish holiday.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	playing pretend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doomcountry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcountry/gifts).



> this is for our jonmartin discord's secret santa exchange, and drew [anne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Askance)! merry christmas, darling!!

today, we take a walk. the weather is just starting to turn, but the fields still hold onto their vibrant green, livestock still meandering about, the earth still offering itself unto us. jon nestles into the scarf i’ve lent him; the one he had was threadworn, too thin. this one is thick, covers the bottom half of his face, and i can see where the heat of his breath caught in the wool fogs up his glasses. 

his arm is linked in mine. our bodies are warm at their points of contact, arm and shoulder, ribs and waist. i still have the cold fingers of lonely wrapped over my shoulder, trying to steer me away, but his warmth has a greater hold on me now. 

“what do you think her name is?” he asks, indicating the cow closest to the fence as we pass by. 

i look at her dark brown coat, thick and tousled, her long lashes that blink at us slowly. “molly,” i say. “she looks like a molly.”

jon extends a gloved finger. “that’s molly, irene, maggie, and the duchess,” he lists out, another finger joining for each name. “i feel that we should add more titled names to our collection.”

i bite my lip, fighting back a smile. “it has to be proportional, jon. us normal folk outnumber the royal family, it’s just the way it has to be.”

jon puts on a pouty expression, but i can see the same smile as mine lighting up his eyes. “well i at least want a baroness.”

“you may have a baroness,” i concede, gently poking him in the side. he nudges back, and we finally laugh, air clouding in bursts before us. molly flicks an ear toward us before bending low to continue munching on the grass. we settle, humming gently and leaning further into each other.

“you’re meeting with basira tomorrow, right?” jon asks. i know he already knows this. i know he hates the trips i’ve had to take since we got here, just to make sure that everything is taken care of for us. i know i hate to leave him, even for a moment. 

“yeah,” i say. “she said she had some things for us. not sure what, though.”

“hmm,” jon responds, changes track. “what do we want to do for supper tonight?”

we crest a low hill, the path curving gently to return to the village. the sky can’t seem to decide its mood, the cold-weather clouds made bright white by the persistent sun.

“i was thinking about a stew,” i say. “something to tide us over for a few days at least.”

jon hums in agreement. “let’s head back then, get what we need.” 

the wind picks up a bit, and we shiver, hold each other tight as we make our way to the village.

\--

the fire is going, the scents of dinner lingering after we have cleaned up. jon decided to take a shower, so i’m sitting on the couch, legs tucked under me as much as i can. my mug of tea is warm between my hands. staring into the flames, it’s the easiest thing to drift off, forget why we’re here, pretend this is just how we’ve decided to be. together. peaceful. everything quiet and gentle. 

it’s what i’ve wanted for so long.

“martin?”

jon lingers in the doorway, concern etched in his face as i shake myself lightly, meet his gaze.

“everything alright?” he asks. his bare feet pad gently on the hardwood as he comes to me. he looks soft in flannel sleep pants and hair still damp from the shower. 

“fine,” i say, but as soon as it’s out of my mouth i want to take it back. “i’m just… i’m thinking about if this were different. if we were here on holiday and n-not just. hiding away.”

his expression becomes mournful, and he brings a hand up to touch my face, gentling fingers through my hair. “i took too long,” he whispers, and drags his thumb along my cheekbone. 

i close my eyes for a moment, lean into his touch. “i don’t know if it would’ve made a difference. too many things already in motion.” 

he keeps watching me, and the sadness in his eyes is almost too much to bear. i can feel my throat tightening, my eyes beginning to sting. he’s been through so much, the enormity of it all resting heavy on his shoulders, and here he feels for  _ my  _ pain, regrets the things that hurt  _ me _ . i haven’t known him quite like this, so much more open-hearted, so empathetic. in the days before he was gone from us, from me, there had been the barest hint of what this might look like. what i’d thought to be wishful thinking. 

although i still seem to have plenty of that in me.

“let’s just pretend,” i say, swallowing back my heart. “for tonight at least. no fears, nothing running at our heels.”

he wipes the tear forming at the corner of my eye, leans down to kiss me so tenderly. i reach up blindly, tangle my fingers into his damp hair. his mouth is clean and he smells like soap, and i think of how impossible this would have been even a month ago. 

“okay,” he breathes out, leaning his forehead against mine. “can i have your help with something?”

“anything,” i say, no hesitation. 

he smiles a bit as he leans away, wry and self-deprecating. “would you mind combing out my hair?” he holds up a plastic comb that i hadn’t noticed before, offering it to me.

i smile back, take the tool from his hand. “of course,” and gesture for him to sit on the rug in front of me. he folds himself down to take his spot while i rearrange my legs, letting them hang on either side of his back so he can rest his head between my knees. his hair has gotten long, was getting long even those six months that he slept, and the grey streaks have become more prominent against the dark brown. i sweep it all back towards me, take the wide tooth edge of the comb and work through the ends. 

jon tilts his head, lays against the inside of my thigh. i feel the movement of his ribs as he breathes slowly, deeply. his arm snakes around my leg until he rests his hand on top of my ankle, fingers gently stroking back and forth against the skin exposed there. my breath catches in my chest but i keep my hands steady. it’s something so electric, yet also the most natural thing in the world. 

i take the comb through his hair, working out any little tangles still left after his shower, until i reach his scalp. setting the comb aside, i bring both of my hands to the base of his skull, massage my fingers into the skin there.

jon gasps, makes an involuntary sound of pleasure that i feel right at my core. 

“martin.”

“shh,” i whisper, leaning forward to press a kiss to the crown of his head. “let me take care of you.”

he hums in response as i continue my work, searching for pressure points that make him release that pleased sound again. his grip on my ankle tightens and then goes lax as he lets himself go boneless with relief. 

i lose myself in the moment. the repetitive motion of my hands, the fire crackling in the grate, jon’s weight against my legs, it all brings me back to my body, my place in this moment, the simple fact of our existence here. things that came before have no bearing here, things that might come after cannot touch us. it is simply me and jon, finally together.

after some time, who can say how long, jon rouses himself from his stupor, tilts his head back to look at me.

“nobody’s done that for me before,” he says quietly. “thank you.”

i lean forward to kiss him again, ignoring the awkward angle. he is warm and soft, and i love him so much. 

“any time, jon.”


End file.
